The Apple And The Tree
by tabbi
Summary: *Finished* An 'alternative' view of Grissom and a girl.
1. Seeds

The Apple and the Tree 

Rated PG 

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CSI characters, they belong to CBS et al. I was just enjoying them for a while. No infringement intended. I make no profit from this.   
Just flexing my muse 

Notes: A glimpse just off the beaten path. An exploration of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships. 

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The Seeds 

She walked up to the reception desk. "I have a delivery for a..." She paused a moment and consulted the slip stapled to the bag. "... Gil Grissom." 

The receptionist nodded and picked up the phone. After a short conversation the receptionist motioned the delivery girl to a group of chairs. The girl placed the food on a table and flopped into a chair. Half an hour later, Gil Grissom came striding up the hallway. When he saw her, he paused and frowned at the delivery girl. Her sandy hair was stuffed under a ball cap, pulled low over her eyes. She wore a huge black sweater and faded blue jeans. She stood and met him a few feet down the hall, out of sight of the receptionist. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked pointedly. 

She knew he wasn't mad. She could always hear it in his voice when he was. "Visiting you." 

Grissom rubbed his temples. "Don't you have classes to study for?" 

"Nothing that can't wait for an hour or so. I just wanted to see you, guess I miss home." She glanced down the hallway in both directions. Seeing no one, she put her arms around him. "I love you. I have to go. Tracie is waiting for me. We'll do something on your day off, right?" 

Grissom nodded. "Maybe dinner. And next time call." 

"I know, your team doesn't need the added distraction of your personal life to interfere with their investigations. I know, I know, you keep telling me that." She sounded so rational. That's why she had always gotten along with Grissom so well. She could control her emotions and respected his personal space. "I just wanted to see you. That was the reason I chose UNLV instead of UCLA, to spend some time with you." 

"I know, sweetheart." Grissom almost asked her to stay. "Things will ease up once Sara returns from her vacation." 

"Is she the pretty one or the bossy one?" 

"Please don't start." Grissom's pager went off. "I have to go. Dinner Friday." 

"Okay. Call me tomorrow." 

"Sure." Grissom risked a quick kiss on her cheek. "I love you, baby."   


"Hi." Her voice sounded sane against the cacophony in the background. Grissom didn't know how she could study amid the clamor, but then again most people couldn't understand how he could be so single minded in his investigations, as to be able to shut out the rest of the world. 

"Hi, sweetheart." She could tell by the tone of his voice he was at home, alone. His sanctuary. He sounded almost relaxed. "How were your classes today?" 

"Okay, I guess. How was work?" 

"Better, after dinner." 

"Good. That was my intention." He could hear her grin over the phone. "Are we still on for dinner Friday?" 

"You got a date, beautiful."   


She came down the stairs. Grissom watched her every move. God, she was gorgeous. The dress she wore was a tight black sheath. It looked like it was painted on and was barely long enough to cover her bottom. He was sure if she bent over the brand of underwear she wore would be visible. At least she wore black stockings so she didn't look completely naked. The shoes raised her up enough to make Grissom uncomfortable. 

"Well?" She prompted. 

"Please change." he stated, his voice impassive. 

"Why?" Her voice was even. It was just a simple question, no challenge. 

"That doesn't leave enough to the imagination." 

"I should look like I'm having dinner with my father?" She raised her eyebrows as he often did. Grissom realized why that annoyed to his team. "Maybe a nice pant suit?" 

"No, Gillian." he sighed. "Just something less form fitting and a little longer." 

She smiled at him. "Somehow I knew you would say that." 

Five minutes later she reappeared in a loose flowing red sundress made of silk. She wrapped a black Angora sweater around her shoulders. She spun around. "Better?" 

"Much."   


Grissom watched Greg dance around the lab. Inside Grissom smiled. All of his team seemed to be in good spirits lately. Maybe it was because Grissom had been more pleasant since Gillian had moved to Vegas. 

"Are you actually working?" Grissom asked stoically. 

"Yes, sir." Greg looked flustered. "Sorry, boss. I met an angel last night at the club. Her name was Gigi and she was hot." 

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

"She wore this black dress that was positively tempting. The best thing was, not only was she beautiful, but brilliant as well." Greg spun on his chair. 

Grissom leaned against the doorpost. "I suppose she had blonde hair and blue eyes? And was very well built?" 

Greg stopped. "Yeah. How did you know?" 

Grissom picked up a magazine on the desk near the door and handed it to Greg. Greg stared at the picture of Pink on the cover. "Not a tough case. Stop daydreaming and get back to work." 

Grissom fumed all the way back to his office. If he called her at this hour, she would be more than upset. Her roommate might not be too thrilled, either. But they were going to discuss this.   


"Did you have a good time at the club the other night?" Grissom asked. 

Gillian stopped peeling potatoes and stared at him. "How did you know?" 

"I'm an investigator. It's my job." 

"Yes, I did." She returned to her potatoes. 

"Let me rephrase the question. What were you doing at a nightclub?" 

"Dancing, that's it." She paused. "The gorgeous geek, that's how you knew, isn't it? He works for you, that's why I recognized his name." 

"Yes. Greg works for me." Grissom looked at her coolly. "Why were you out at the club?" 

"I was bored. You were at work and I had nothing to do. Tracie and some of the other girls were going so I tagged along. It's not like I went to pick up a guy." 

Grissom squirmed anxiously. The idea of Gillian having sex made him uncomfortable. "I thought you weren't going to wear the black dress anymore." 

"I said I wouldn't wear it to dinner, I didn't say I would get rid of it." She looked at him and rolled her eyes in a youthful sign of irritation. "Besides, I had nothing else to go clubbing in." 

Grissom rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying not to lose his cool. "How did you get in?" 

"I showed the bouncer my UNLV ID." 

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don't you hate it when the author stops in the middle of something? let me know if you'd like to read the rest. 


	2. Dancing, Disco & the Full Monty

The Apple and the Tree 

Rated PG 

Disclaimer: This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al. I don't make any profit or make any money from this. No infringement is intended. This is just for fun. 

Synopsis: An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships. In this chapter, we are surprised by a rare side of Grissom. 

Notes: Thanks to Escher and Trap for tech support, & Eric and Disempi for their help working out logistics. & Bron for ideas :)   
The songs are both by the Newsboys from the "love, liberty, disco" CD. 

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2-Dancing, Disco and the Full Monty 

"Gillian!" Grissom actually shouted at her, something he rarely did, even in private. He lowered his voice to a more conversational level. "You shouldn't have been there, you are too young." 

"I was there to dance. Greg is the only guy I talked to. And like I told Tracie, even if I were old enough, there had to be something wrong with him." Gillian frowned at Grissom. "And now I know what it is. He works for you. Just my luck, I find a smart, sexy guy, who isn't intimidated by my brains and he works for you." 

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place." Grissom was fighting a losing battle with his temper. His voice was hard and rose ever so slightly. "You lied about your age. That's dishonest." 

"I didn't lie, he assumed because I was a student at the university, I was old enough. I wasn't trying to deceive him." Gillian put down the potato and the knife and faced him. Her voice was placid and her explanation, reasonable. "I'm sorry. I was bored and lonely. I didn't think you'd be to thrilled about me hopping in a taxi coming over here at 11:00 at night all by myself, and the school library was closed, so I tried to be sociable. Just once I'd like to fit in somewhere. I'm not much of a people person, that's why mom pushed so hard for me to be in the dorms instead of here with you. She said I need to get out more and not spend all my time with my nose stuck in a book like...." 

"...like me?" Grissom finished. 

Gillian walked across the kitchen and put her arms around Grissom's neck. "Yes," she admitted in a sad soft whisper. "I never could understand why she hated you. She was furious the day I told her I wanted to study forensics. She didn't talk to me for a week after I told her I wanted to attend UNLV so I could spend some time with you." 

"Your mother only wants the best for you, Gillian." Grissom replied gently. "She wants you to have every advantage possible." 

"And she wants to punish you for loving her." 

"That's not fair." said Grissom in a tolerant manner. "Your mother has worked hard to make sure you get the best education." 

"And where has it gotten me?" Grissom could feel Gillian's tears on his shoulder. "I'm barely a year out of high school and instead of planning which party to attend this weekend, I'm writing a ten page paper on the use of entomology in forensics." 

"What's wrong with that?" 

"Nothing, but she wants me to be a genius, without being socially reclusive." 

"Again, what's wrong with that?" 

"Nothing, if I were the same age as my peers, but most of them are 3 or 4 years out of high school. I surround myself with adult responsibility all day and she wants me to act like a kid. I can't do both. That's why I'm here." She sank onto his lap. "You can relate." 

At 5'1" Gillian was still small enough for Grissom to hold her in his arms. He held her for a long time before he spoke. "Forget dinner for tonight. We'll order take out. Just be a kid tonight. I'm sure we can find some mind numbing movie on TV and you can lay on the couch and eat popcorn while I read the paper and we'll watch it together." 

"I love you." 

"I love you, too, sweetheart."   
  


Grissom stood in the doorway watching Gillian dance around the kitchen, singing. He was glad to see that she had inherited some of Miranda's more endearing qualities. Knowing these moments were rare and fleeting, Grissom leaned against the doorpost and took it all in. 

"turn the page can't turn the light out every word every line carries to my soul dark letters on page singing so loud where did I go wrong not hear your.. eighteen years guess it was alright I let you do the thinking I just bide my time father to..." She paused in her song as she glimpsed him from the corner of his eye. "Oh, hi; I'm sorry. Is the music too loud?" 

"No." Grissom gave her a half-smile. "Just happy to see you inherited your grace and beauty from your mother." 

Gillian rolled her eyes as she replied. "And thankfully everything else from you." 

Grissom frowned. "Gillian, don't talk about your mother like that." 

Gillian held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, no mom-bashing today." 

The next song started and Grissom raised an eyebrow at his daughter. "Disco?" 

"Not really. Come dance with me." She grabbed his hand and dance with him. "...do you feel the love that invites us the liberty excites us the disco has just begun has just begun give me love give me liberty disco...." 

Grissom moved awkwardly and felt stiff next to the fluid grace of his only child. He could see why Greg had referred to her as an angel. She was breathtaking, smart and had a beautiful voice. Her mother had been like that when he first met her. Miranda had just ended a rough relationship, she was young and found herself pregnant and unwed, so she had stayed with the father until she couldn't live with the abuse any longer. Her small boy, Ian, adored Grissom. They had married, and then shortly before Grissom received the offer to work in Las Vegas, Miranda had the union annulled. Grissom was devastated. The day he left for Vegas, Miranda had informed him of her pregnancy. She had wanted to end it, but Grissom threatened to assert his parental rights. In the end, Grissom had paid for everything. Prenatal care, the hospital, lamaze, the works. But Gillian had been worth it. 

Gillian notice the faraway look on her father's face. She stopped dancing and studied him. "What ya thinking about?" 

"Just remembering why I fell in love with your mother." Grissom said wistfully. 

"I'm sorry she fell out of love with you." Gillian sighed. "You still love her don't you? You know, hiding your feelings is different than feeling nothing at all." 

"Don't tell my team that." Grissom gave her a rueful grin. "They think I'm made of stone. I don't feel anything, that's how Sara put it once." 

"She's wrong and you know it. A scientist's job is to record observations, a good one doesn't let his, or her, preconceived ideas get in the way." Gillian grabbed a soda out of the refrigerator. She gave him a serious look, one that belied her youth. "It's like Aryk told me once. You can't think about them as people, or about their lives, because it eats away at your soul. He worked in the morgue at the hospital."   
  


Gillian lay sprawled out across the floor studying. Grissom was reading an article on the latest procedures in evidence recovery on victims. Gillian frowned at the paper she was working on. 

"Okay, I'm stumped; how do you suffocate a victim without leaving marks?" The pensive frown grew deeper. "That is a stupid question. There is always some evidence on the body that explains how the victim was asphyxiated. There has to be marks or something." 

Grissom looked at her. "Are you sure?" 

"What do you mean?" She had obviously not been asking him to answer her question. She may not have even realized she was speaking aloud. 

Grissom looked at her neutrally. He tilted his head to the side and quirk a brief smile. "You'll figure it out." He returned to his article. 

"This is a poorly written question. We use the evidence to tell us how the victim died, not the other way around." Gillian sat up, deep in thought. Grissom knew the look, he had done it often enough. She was putting herself in the situation. "Let's see, auto asphyxiation would leave marks. Anything putting sufficient pressure on the larynx would leave a mark. You'd have to press down hard to use a pillow, which would leave marks, unless....." 

"Yes?" Grissom looked expectantly at his daughter. 

"If the victim was already short of breath, theoretically one could occlude the airway without much of a struggle. That might not leave any external signs, like ligature marks, of suffocation." Gillian raised her eyebrow, gazing at her father with much skepticism. "That's not very plausible, but I guess it would work as far as the question is concerned." 

"More or less." Grissom nodded. It was daunting to see how much Gillian was like he had been at 16. 

She looked at him coming out of her reverie as fast as she had entered it. "Did you feed Monty this week?" 

Grissom blinked at her. "What?" 

"Did... you.... feed... Monty?" She rose to her feet. 

"Yes," Grissom frowned at her. "I thought you were doing homework?" 

"That's what made me think about it." She went upstairs and returned with a small snake about three feet long. "I need to ask a herpetologist if a constrictor would leave any externally visible marks on the body. That was my original answer, but I don't have the evidence to back it up. 

"Poor, Monty." she cooed at the python wrapped around her arm. "Daddy probably didn't pay any attention to you did he?" Gillian looked at her father. "Thanks for letting me keep him here. Tracie thought she'd be okay, but the devouring of whole live rats got to her. I guess she's one up on mom. I thought she'd kill Ian when he gave Monty to me. If mom had her way, he'd be a snake skin change purse." 

"That's not fair to your mother." 

"Why are you defending her?" 

"She's your mother, you need to respect her." 

"Do you know what she says about you?" 

"That's irrelevant." 

"You still love her don't you?" 

"Yes, Gillian, I do." replied Grissom in a matter-of-fact voice. Gillian put her hands on her hips, becoming cross. "But it didn't work out." 

Grissom could see the tears in her eyes, tears he'd shed long ago. 

"It's not fair." she blurted. "Why do you care after all the grief she's given you? She hates you. She has done everything in her power to turn me against you." 

"Did it work?" Grissom was maddeningly logical when he knew Gillian just wanted to be angry at her mother for not allowing him in her life. 

"No. But why is she like that?" 

Grissom shrugged. "People are not my forte, honey. I guess your mother didn't want to compete with my job." 

"That's bull shit!" Gillian exclaimed. She clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, pop. But it's the truth. You've never forgotten a birthday or a holiday. Even Ian and Amy. And they don't belong to you. 

"John treated her like..." Gillian searched for an appropriate word. "...feces. You know that, that's when you met her. He rarely ever sent Ian child support, let alone a birthday card. But you always remembered Ian's birthday. 

"Mom refused to give me your name, because she wanted to hurt you for loving her." Grissom gave a slight nod, as she continued with her tirade. "She invited you to her wedding to Colin, just to prove that she was over you. And you came." 

"I came to see you, Gillian, you know that." 

She smiled at the memory. "I guess it really irritated mom to have you sit up front so I would walk up the aisle. I remember Ian telling me to walk to my daddy. And I remember dancing with you." 

Gillian sank onto the couch beside him. "How can you not be angry?" 

"Because that's exactly what she wants." Grissom was calm and rational. After he had gotten over the initial shock, he realized that he couldn't change the facts. And after Gillian's birth he hadn't really cared anymore. He smile at her and put his arm around her. "Do you want to know a secret?" 

She shrugged. "Sure." 

"You are all the compensation I need." 

"That's corny." 

"No it's not. Look at the facts." Grissom started ticking off points like evidence in a case. "You look like me, not like her. Everyday she sees a reminder of what we had. I did everything I could to make sure you had everything you needed, and I have supported your mother in every decision, concerning you." 

"I know that got to her." said Gillian. "It drove her nuts that you wouldn't argue with her." 

Grissom nodded and continued. "If she only knew. Did you know that she didn't want me in the delivery room when you were born? Colin got me some scrubs and a mask from a nurse and told your mother I was an intern. I don't think she ever found out." 

"You lied to my mother!" Gillian smiled. "Wait a minute, did you say Colin? Like Dr. Colin O'Reilly? Like the one my mom is married to now?" 

"The same." Grissom nodded, as he continued. "The doctor that delivered you, handed you to me and told me to bathe you. You were a mess, slimy and bloody. But I fell in love. If I knew then, what I know now, I still would have married your mother."   
  
"Okay, enough sappy stories. I need to finish this paper."   
  


Gillian dropped her books to the floor, pulling out her keys. She stood at an angle, her shoulder to the wall. She didn't like the location of the room. It was at the end of a long hallway, near the alcove that hid the fire escape. The corridor was usually deserted and that made her uncomfortable. Her roommate Tracie said between her father's gruesome job and the morbid classes Gillian was enrolled in, it was no wonder she was always jumpy. Disempi said as Gillian continued her training, her sensitivity to her surroundings would increase. Gillian felt a growing unease. Despite the late hour, she felt like she wasn't alone. The hairs on her neck stood up and she felt the tingle of her palm, like the soft brush of a feather. That always meant trouble. Then out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed him coming for her.   



	3. Don't Fear the Belt

The Apple and the Tree 

Rated PG 

Disclaimer: This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al. I don't make any profit or make any money from this. No infringement is intended. This is just for fun. 

Synopsis: An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships. Finally, someone who can get an emotional response. My apologies for a Greg-less chapter. 

Notes: Thanks to Trap, Escher, Eric and Disempi for helping me work out the flaws.   
If you read, please review I won't keep writing if no one likes it. 

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3-Don't fear the belt 

It felt like she was moving in slow motion as Gillian turned to strike her opponent. She reacted out of habit, before she realized what was happening. Her attacker slumped to the floor. The girls that lived across the hall opened the door angrily to see who was banging on their wall, so late at night. When Gillian saw them, she told them to call security and locked herself in her room.   


The investigating officer scrutinized the unconscious assailant and the unhappy co-ed. "Are you Gillian Genoix?" he asked. 

She nodded. 

"What happened?" 

"I was opening the door and he tried to grab me." 

"What did you hit him with?" 

"My elbow." 

"Miss Genoix, I need to know exactly what happened." 

"I told you. He attacked me and I defended myself." 

"How?" 

Gillian sighed. It had come as instinct. She put herself into the situation as an observer, instead of the victim. "I had dropped my books, then I reached into my pocket to get my keys." she said slowly watching it happen in her mind's eye. "Then I felt someone behind me. I elbowed him as I turned, I might have hit him with the keys, then I kicked him." 

The officer shot her a skeptical look. 

"I guess this solves my book problem." mumbled Gillian. 

"What?" The officer stared at her. 

"I was debating about getting a second set of books to leave at my dad's house. But there is no way he's gonna let me stay in the dorms after this. I don't think he even knew they were co-ed in the first place." She paused and looked at the officer. "There's no way to keep it from him. I am in so much trouble. My dad is not going to be happy." 

"Yes, we will have to contact your parents." sighed the officer 

Gillian glanced at her watch. 11:30. Her father would be at work already. She sighed in resignation. "My father is Gil Grissom. Las Vegas Crime Lab. He's shift supervisor, they're probably out somewhere investigating, but you should be able to get him on his cell phone." 

The officer nodded. "Why don't you come to the station? We can get your statement and your father can pick you up there."   
  


"Hi, dad." Gillian tried to smile at her father. Grissom's face was impassive, his mouth set in a thin, hard line. She could see it in his eyes that he was incensed. The ride home wouldn't be fun. 

Grissom, reserved and silent, drove through the streets of Las Vegas. Gillian sat next to him, unable to explain what had happened. 

"I'm sorry, pop." she began in a small voice. "Can I at least go back tonight and get my stuff for class? Tracie will be with me." 

A stoic Grissom made no reply. 

"We can stop by the house for Monty. No one would come near me with him around my neck. I'll have to go back there eventually to pack my stuff." 

"No, you don't." said Grissom evenly. "I can pay your roommate for that." 

"Pop! Where am I going to go? And don't forget I have class in six hours." 

Grissom stopped the car in the driveway. "Gillian," She was braced for the worst. He was calm and rational; his emotions wouldn't interfere with his ability to make clear, shrewd decisions. "It's hard for most people to accept the fact that you are only 16..." 

"I'll be 17 in a few months." Intellectually, she knew she shouldn't interrupt, but she was upset, and couldn't argue with biology. 

"The fact still remains that you are considerably younger than your peers, and perhaps you need to wait." Grissom paused. 

"You think that if I were 18 or 20, he wouldn't have tried it?" asked Gillian. She spoke slowly, she was still shaken and unreasonable. "I know you want to protect me, but that's why I train. Like Disempi says, 'don't fear the belt, fear the one who earned it.' I can defend myself better than any of the rest of my colleagues." 

"I know you can defend yourself, but no amount of martial arts can stop a bullet." 

"I know. I'm willing to discuss it, but you need to work and I have class. Neither one of us is fit to have this talk right now. After my classes I will have Tracie bring me here and we will decide then, okay?" 

Grissom conceded with a short sigh. "Go get Monty."   


Grissom grimaced. His head ached and throbbed. Even the quiet strains of Brahms stabbed at his temples. He turned to try to get comfortable and was caught by a faint dim shaft of fading sunlight. It burned his eyes and a wave of violent nausea washed over him. The room was stifling, but he couldn't stay standing long enough to adjust the thermostat. The sound of Gillian's key in the lock was like a gunshot, echoing in great swells of pain. 

The Brahms suddenly fell silent and Grissom felt the gentle touch of cool air brush his face. It carried the scent of spice and fruit, Gillian's perfume. There were faint distant sounds his anguished mind couldn't place. 

"Drink this." Gillian placed a glass in his hand. "It will help." 

Grissom took small, slow sips of the tepid water. Then he smelled something that reminded him of his childhood in Santa Monica. The thick sweet smell of cinnamon and spice, the heady fragrance of burning sage and the light scent of lavender. Gillian's tender hand took the empty glass, and pulled his head into her lap. Her touch was methodical. She started rubbing his temples, then around his crown, stopping periodically to push firmly in the top of his head. 

At long last, Grissom ventured to open his eyes. The room was a sea of darkness, cool and still. He pushed himself into a sitting position. He felt Gillian's delicate fingers begin to work on the small hard knot between his shoulders. 

"One of the doctors in Dr. Colin's medical group has started recommending holistic, eastern type medicine in addition to traditional western style." whispered Gillian. Grissom knew where this was headed. Every time he had a migraine, Gillian insisted it was because he didn't take care of himself. 

"I went to school with her daughter, Natsuko. Nat's grandmother is an acupuncturist. She says that the body needs mental and spiritual cleansing as well as physical." Gillian pressed hard on the knot. The pain was almost unbearable. Grissom let out an audible sigh of relief when she eased the pressure. 

"So what caused this one? Work?" Gillian paused, then stopped rubbing. "Or me?" 

"Not you." Grissom reassured her affectionately. "It was a long night. Too many hours in front of a computer." 

"Grandma San says that the body tells a story the mind refuses to hear. Like evidence in a case." Gillian applied steady, firm pressure to another pressure point. Grissom cringed. "So do you want to talk about what is really bothering you or are you going to try to redirect me? I told you before, hiding you feelings is not the same as not having them." 

"It isn't you, sweetheart." Grissom maintained. 

"But it isn't work, either." The heel of Gillian's hand pressed down hard with increasing weight. 

"No." Grissom could barely answer. The knot suddenly vanished as the tension went out of his shoulders. The faint popping of his back snapped in his ears. 

There was a harsh scratching sound and his nose was assaulted but the sharp acrid smell of sulfur and something burnt. Gillian lit a fat vanilla candle, it's three wicks dancing merrily in the darkness. 

Grissom sat on the sofa, watching the flames sway, casting moving shadows on the wall. It reminded him of growing up in Santa Monica. His mother always had a candle burning, and the smell of baking often coalesced with the fragrant inscence. 

The migraine had subsided to a dull throb now, that could be chased away with analgesic or sleep. Grissom forced himself to relax into the couch. Gillian sat cross legged at the end staring at him. 

"Miranda called today." 

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if you want more you must review..... 


	4. Ursa Minor

The Apple and the Tree 

Rated PG 

Disclaimer: This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al. I don't make any profit or make any money from this. No infringement is intended. This is just for fun. 

Synopsis: An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships. It's getting stranger by the minute..... 

Notes: Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches. 

MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** Those that don't :( ... I'll be gone for a month with no computer, should I finish before then? R/R 

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4- Ursa Minor 

"Miranda called today." 

Grissom couldn't bring himself to say 'your mother', he had already had an awful row with Miranda and knew that Gillian would be furious, without launching off on a mother bashing tirade. If Gillian noticed his subtle deflection, she said nothing. 

"She is still vehemently unhappy with your decision." 

That was an understatement. Miranda had screamed herself hoarse for thirty minutes. She blamed Grissom for the attack on Gillian. She said that he had manipulated Gillian and then used the assault as justification to coerce her into living with him. Miranda had even accused him of poisoning Gillian's mind into thinking that her mother was an awful, hateful woman. Grissom simply said nothing. He had no idea how to respond to her anger and violence. What had hurt him was not the names Miranda called him, or the horrible accusations she made, but the fact that Miranda called only to persecute him, not because she was concerned with Gillian's welfare. 

Gillian nodded, but said nothing. Grissom continued. "She says you should move back into the dorms and finish your semester here, then transfer to UCLA and take summer classes. They have an excellent program there." 

Gillian shook her head slowly. "I can't transfer any of my Forensics classes. I checked. I knew she would say this." Gillian's voice was unemotional and hard. "I expected it from the beginning; she's doing this to antagonize you. I looked into it before I made my choice to come to Vegas. I'm not starting over. She knows that."   
  


Grissom's brisk steps echoed a staccato rhythm down the long corridor. He read over a report Sara had handed him just minutes ago. The physical evidence she had collected supported the coroner's preliminary results. The analysis Greg was running on the blood samples should further corroborate their findings, just in time for the doctor's final report. 

Grissom slowed as he neared the DNA lab. He paused as the familiar throb of music floated out the lab door. Grissom sighed. Sometimes he felt more like a high school hall monitor than an investigator. And more often than not, Greg was on the receiving end of most of his admonitions. One of the down sides to being supervisor. 

Grissom entered the lab, ready to redirect the young technician. As Grissom opened his mouth to tell Greg to get back to work, he realized Greg was industriously hunched over a microscope making notes. Now Grissom recognized the music. Gillian had chosen it at a local kareoke night a few nights ago. 

Greg looked up. His usual, annoying, overzealous, cheerfulness was subdued. "Oh, hi. your results should be up in just a moment." 

Grissom nodded. "It's a pretty song. You can get rid of some of the distortion by lowering the gain." 

Greg looked at the floor and gave a self-conscious shrug. "Force of habit. I guess I'm trying to broaden my musical horizons. Not that it matters, she's not dating right now." Greg let out a disconsolate sigh. "At least that's what she says." 

Greg looked up suddenly, remembering whom he had been addressing. "Sorry, no point to my story. Only self-pity." Greg leaned over and turned down the radio. "Just wishful thinking." 

The computer beeped. Greg took the paper the printer spat out and perused it, then signed the bottom, before handing it to his boss. 

"You were right, again." said Greg, uncharacteristically devoid of any sarcasm or cynical humor. "Lethal overdose." 

"Thanks." said Grissom taking the page and reading it for himself, before adding it to his stack. "You do good work, Greg."   
  


Grissom methodically scanned the atrium. Some of the spiders had escaped before, but there had always been tell-tale evidence of their methods. His eyes fell on the vacant snake's cage once again. Gillian was usually so careful about securing the top; but today the lid was gone and Monty was conspicuously absent. 

Somewhere behind him, Grissom heard the rattle of keys and the distinct thump of books being dropped. Gillian was home. 

"Hi, pop." Her voice floated through the rooms, followed by her footsteps. 

"Where's Monty?" Grissom asked in a spartan tone. "His cage is empty." 

Gillian appeared at his elbow. "I..." 

Gillian fell silent as the investigator in her took over and she studied the room in silence. "Have you touched anything?" she asked in a serious manner. 

"No. I worked late and had lunch out." Grissom followed her gaze around the room. Save for the barren cages, nothing appeared out of place. No voids, nothing missing, naught a hair disturbed. 

"Someone was here." 


	5. Altered Realities

The Apple and the Tree 

Rated PG 

Disclaimer: This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al. I don't make any profit or make any money from this. No infringement is intended. This is just for fun. 

Synopsis: An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships. It's getting stranger by the minute..... 

Notes: Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches.   
Sean- Thanks so much for your 'eyewitness' account of the end of this chapter. I really appreciate it. You rock! 

MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^   
5- Altered Realities 

"Maybe Monty escaped." 

"No." Gillian shook her head and readjusted the mesh bag on her arm. "I took Monty to class with me." 

Grissom studied the room once more. If someone had been here, he or she had been meticulous. The only signs of disturbance were the missing arachnids. He shook his head. "Nothing is missing but the spiders. The door was locked and I didn't see any signs of forced entry....." 

"Someone moved my bo staff." Gillian interrupted, nodding to the corner. 

To Grissom it looked like an old broom handle, leaning in the corner of the room, by Monty's cage. The same place she always left it. Grissom shook his head, unable to see how she could tell the difference. 

"It's upside down." Gillian said, answering his unspoken question. "Even if I didn't just know; there's a notch in the bottom from when I first learned my bo kata."   
  


Grissom studied the paperwork in front of him. He removed his glasses and rubbed the middle of his forehead with his thumb. This case just didn't add up; they were missing something. He heard a key in the lock. Gillian was home early. 

"Hey, pop." she called, announcing her presence. 

A garbled, distorted yelling echoed through Grissom's home. What was Gillian listening to now? It was worse than Greg's.... Grissom paused mid thought as a belated realization struck him. It was the answering machine. He hadn't erased Miranda's message yet. 

The message came to an abrupt end in the middle of the angry tirade. Gillian stalked over the the table where Grissom sat studying the case and the evidence. To say she was angry was an understatement. 

Gillian glared at him. "Have you listened to your messages today?" 

Grissom didn't look up. "Yes, I heard it. I've been here all day working on this case." 

Gillian let out an exasperated breath. "Well, why didn't you just pick up the phone and tell her I was still taking my finals?" 

Grissom removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When parents fought it was hard on the child. When those parents were separated it was more complicated, because the parents almost forced the child to chose sides. 

He recalled his own childhood. The screaming the tears, the insults. His father bellowing obscenities at his mother's unhearing back. Grissom had never wanted that for his own child. He had tried to pacify Miranda as much as possible, to spare Gillian the same grief. 

"She already knows your schedule." Grissom sighed with resignation. "She called to talk to me. She's still unhappy about your decision." 

"So she calls you?" Gillian frowned. The look reminded Grissom of the look Sara gave him often. Gillian's scowl darkened. "This is my life not hers, I can do what I want." 

"She's just concerned." 

"No, she's not!" snapped Gillian. "She doesn't even care about me." 

"That's not true." To his own ears, Grissom's assurance rang hollow. He didn't talk to Miranda much any more and had no idea how she treated Gillian when he wasn't around. 

"Yes, it is!" shrieked Gillian. "She told me so." 

Grissom's heart sank. Miranda was a brilliant lawyer, but she was a less than charitable person when someone refused to do things her way. He once thought he could change that. He was young and idealistic. He was madly in love with her, or so he thought. He wanted to give Ian a loving father and Miranda a sensitive, caring husband. In retrospect, Grissom realized that Miranda had simply manipulated him for her own means. Miranda's parents wanted her to marry to assuage their religious convictions and Grissom had been more than willing to help her out with law school. 

Grissom studied the hot, savage tears that gathered in his daughter's eyes. 

"What did she say to make you think that she doesn't love you?" Grissom's voice was tender. He had never wanted to have this conversation. But he knew it was inevitable. 

Gillian trembled with rage. Grissom knew the feeling. Every time he saw Eddie, Catherine's ex. When Warrick had called him to say the Crane had defenstrated Nick. Certain cases. Sara volunteering to bait the 'Strip Strangler'. Grissom knew the ferocity of Gillian's emotions. The fury that burned in her was as potentially destructive to her as to anyone in her path. 

Gillian took a deep shuddering breath before she spoke. "She said you forced her to marry you and that you forced her to have me." 

The anguish in her voice was tangible. The huge, resentful tears scorched red rivers down her cheeks. 

"I suppose that is partially true." Grissom conceded quietly, at a loss to explain how he had felt the day Miranda told him she wanted to abort Gillian. "I couldn't let her end the pregnancy." 

"So she never really wanted me?" Gillian ran from the room, crying. "I wish I had never been born. You're so selfish. I hate you both." 

Grissom exhaled suddenly as if he had been punched in the gut. That's how it felt. The slamming door echoed deafeningly in his ears. He rubbed his temples, trying in vain to fend off the impending headache. 

Before he left for work, Grissom tapped on the bedroom door. He could still hear Gillian's soft, heartbroken sobs from within. 

"Gillian? I have to leave for work." Grissom paused, his heart stuck in his throat. "I love you, sweetheart." 

The sobs stopped, but Gillian made no reply.   
  


Grissom surveyed the crime scene, trying to visualize the accident. Another hit and run, although the victim had been lucky. The kid had been wearing a helmet and pads when the car struck him. He had a few scrapes and bruises, and a couple of broken bones but all things considered he had been fortunate. Grissom thoughts were diverted by the obnoxious tone of his cell phone ringing. 

"Grissom." 

"Hi, pop." 

"I'm working right now; can I call you later?" 

"I just wanted to apologize." 

Something in her voice made him stop. "Hold on." He glanced up at Catherine. "I need to take this call, I'll be back in a minute." 

Grissom eased into the front seat of the dark, late model Tahoe parked at he edge of the police tape. "Why couldn't you wait until I got home?" 

"I didn't want to wait. I thought about what I said and about what you said. And I called Ian. I can't take back what I said, but I didn't mean it." Gillian paused. Grissom swore she was still crying. "I don't hate you, pop. And I don't hate mom, either. I know she was angry. I..." 

"I understand. I have to get back to work now." 

"I'm sorry. I really do love you, pop." 

"I know." 

"Be careful, pop." 

"Ok. Go get some sleep, you have finals tomorrow." 

"I know. 'night." 

" 'night, sweetheart." 

Grissom hung up and slipped the phone in his pocket as he sauntered across the street. Catherine was tagging evidence. Grissom felt a sharp sting, then the world swirled and lurched sideways in slow motion. As the planet seemed to tilt, Grissom was aware of a cold, clammy sweat covering his body. Then everything was black.   



	6. aye sea ewe

The Apple and the Tree 

Rated PG 

Disclaimer: This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al. I don't make any profit or make any money from this. No infringement is intended. This is just for fun. 

Synopsis: In which we find out what happens to our beloved Grissom, maybe.... 

Notes: Thanks for reading. thanks to those i've mentioned before. Sean-I hope your sanity is restored and i hope this is enough to molify your angst for being my beta. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 

6- aye sea ewe 

Brass dial the number. This was a part of the job he hated. It rang twice before a sleepy voice answered. 

"Hello, my name is Jim Brass. I'm with the Las Vegas Police Department. I'm looking for Gillian Genoix." 

The sleepy voice was suddenly awake and full of trepidation. "This is Gillian." 

"Do you know Gil Grissom?" Brass asked uncertainly. 

"Yes." 

"I'm afraid I have some bad news." 

----- 

Gillian drummed her fingers on the ER desk. The nurse gave her a harsh glare. Gillian stopped and began chewing her nails. 

"I'm sorry." said the nurse. "What did your say your name was?" 

"Gillian Grissom. Det. Brass called me a while ago and said something happened to my father and I'm trying to find out if he's okay." 

"Grisham?" The nurse shook her head. "I don't have a listing for a Jill Grisham." 

"It's Grissom. G-R-I-S-S-O-M. Gil. G-I-L." said Gillian, her patience waning. "He works for the crime lab, so there may have been officers or people in jackets with 'forensics' printed across the back accompanying him." 

The phone rang. The admitting nurse held up a finger. "Just a moment." 

Gillian sank to the floor in front of the desk. Propping her elbows on her knees Gillian put her head on her hands. She had to think about this logically. She could have written down the wrong hospital. Or maybe her pop wasn't listed in the computer yet. Or maybe this nurse was lazy and ignorant. 

"No emotions. Not here." Grissom's voice was so clear Gillian jumped. 

Gillian was drained and exhausted. She had two more finals in another five hours. Today would be Dr. Harding and Professor Harrison. Harrison would be easy. He hated grading and always used computer corrected tests. Harding on the other hand would most certainly give an essay exam. As long as it wasn't the so called 'Strip Strangler'. 

Dr. Harding always emphasized strict scientific detachment. Emotion and opinion had no place in forensics. It was all about the facts given by the evidence. However a discussion on the press, public and investigations turned into a very unscientific debate on how much information should be available. Gillian verses the class. 

Some cited the first amendment right to free speech and press, others said the public had a right to know; Gillian insisted that there were facts in every case whose disclosure went beyond the right to know and shouldn't be published because it was nothing more than morbid sensationalism. Her opinion hadn't won her friends, but as she pointed out that was exactly why opinions and emotions had no place in forensic science. 

"Miss... miss.. are you okay?" 

Gillian woke with a start. She must have dozed off. A young paramedic knelt over her. Gillian felt her face grow warm. 

"Yeah. I'm trying to find my father. Guess I fell asleep." Gillian flashed him a weak smile. 

"Maybe I can help." The paramedic returned her smile. "My name is Jon." 

"I'm Gillian Grissom." 

The paramedic's smile brightened. "Would your father be Gil Grissom?" 

"Yes." Gillian replied with relief. "Do you know where he is?" 

"I brought him in about an hour ago. Dr. Casey treated him." 

The paramedic held out a hand to help her up. Gillian was struck by the intense color of his eyes, almost the same hue as her father's. They walked through the wide halls of the emergency room. A doctor about Grissom's age stood in the doorway of one of the exam rooms, studying a chart. The absent gesture he used to push his glasses up, reminded Gillian of her father, once again, and tears sprang to her eyes. 

The paramedic waved at the doctor. "Dr. Casey," he called out. "Just the man I was looking for." 

The doctor looked up from his charts. "Hey, Jon. What can I do for you?" 

"I'm helping this young lady locate her father." replied Jon. "Gil Grissom? Brought in roughly an hour ago?" 

Dr. Casey nodded. "Yes, I'm still waiting for the results from the blood work. I'll know more when I see those." 

------- 

Gillian stepped off the elevator. Dr. Casey had directed her to the intensive care unit. He said a nurse would help her find her father's room. 

An alarm went off, sounding harsh and loud in the still, silent hallway. A few nurses and a tired-looking doctor rushed into a nearby room, pushing several carts of equipment. Gillian knew what it meant. Dr. Colin had taken Gillian, her brother and sister to work with him on many occasions. He had shown them the myriad of machines. Gillian knew someone had just gone into cardiac arrest. She swallowed the enormous lump in her throat, fighting back the tears. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst, and looked around for the nurses station. 


	7. Over Someone's Grave

The Apple and the Tree 

Rated PG 

Disclaimer: This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al. I don't make any profit or make any money from this. No infringement is intended. This is just for fun. 

Synopsis: An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships. It's getting stranger by the minute..... 

Notes: I 've said thanx before, so I won't do it again. So here it is the next installment, and Greg is back. All feedback is read and anything insulting is ignored.   
MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** Those that don't :(   
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^   
7- Over Someone's Grave 

The nurses station was empty. Gillian cast an anxious glance around her. Hospitals usually didn't bother her. But tonight every child's worst fear hounded her like a phantom menace. If she could find her father and see that he was okay, she would be fine. 

A young red-head in dark, evergreen scrubs walked up to her. "Can I help you?" 

Gillian bit her lip. "Dr. Casey sent me up here." 

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Gillian Grissom?" 

Gillian nodded. 

She smiled at Gillian. "Right this way, your father is one of my patients." 

The small room was filled with muted blinking lights. In the shaft of light from the hallway, Grissom looked pallid and insubstantial, ghostly. Gillian grasped his hand, an involuntary shudder   
ran down her spine at its frosty lifelessness. 

The nurse patted her shoulder. "He'll be just fine. He isn't expected to regain consciousness for several hours, but you are welcome to sit with him if you like.   


-------   
Greg stepped off the elevator. He was uncomfortable here; but he felt obligated to see Grissom. It was all the night shift technicians had talked about; Grissom had suddenly fallen unconscious at a crime scene. The other investigators hadn't said much about the incident. The rumors buzzed as speculation ranged from the wild to the outrageous. Greg had kept his own theories private. It was too much like walking over someone's grave. 

So here he was. Although Grissom tended to be abrupt, he was, by far, the best supervisor to work with; even when Greg was at the receiving end of Grissom's acerbic admonitions or caustic looks. Despite Grissom's reputation for being a hardass, Greg knew Grissom looked out for the best interests of his team. 

Greg was startled out of his thoughts by a near collision with a petite blonde treading wearily down the corridor. 

"I'm sorry." He mumbled. "Gigi?" 

Greg stared at her. She looked wrung out. Dark circles crowded her red rimmed eyes. She looked as if she had spent the entire night weeping instead of resting. 

"Oh. Hi, Greg." Her voice dragged like her tired feet, but she gave him a wan smile. 

"Are you okay?" Greg asked with sincere concern. That was his weakness, a girl in trouble, more often than not it ended badly and he always paid a hefty price. But despite the end results, he couldn't refuse to help. 

"I'm fine. I was here all night with my father." 

"Your father is here? Is he okay? Nothing serious, I hope." 

Greg's concern was endearing. Gillian's smile intensified. "Yes, I just spoke to the doctor. He said it was anaphylactic shock and he hit his head when he fell." 

Greg returned her enigmatic smile. "Going home to get some sleep?" 

Gillian shook her head, her knees weak. "No, I have finals in an hour. I'd better go. See ya later." 

"I hope so." whispered Greg as he watched her retreat down the hall towards the elevator. 

Greg found Grissom's room. Grissom was still sleeping. It was weird to see him like this. A sudden doubt gripped Greg's stomach. What was he doing here? Absently, he picked up Grissom's coat from the chair, hanging it over the back. He sank into the soft seat and rubbed his temples. 

"I have been up too long." Greg murmured to himself, aloud. "I swear I can still smell Gigi's perfume." 

Greg looked up at Grissom. "Hey, boss, hurry up and recover. I don't want to have to work with Ecklie." He rose from the chair, his conscience pacified. "Later, Grissom."   


----   
Dr. Harding handed Gillian a piece of paper. 

"What's this?" she asked looking at it nonplused. 

"Your summer intern assignment." He inspected her with detachment. "I suggest you get to the lab and introduce yourself before Monday when you are scheduled to start." 

Gillian wilted. "Is there anyway to postpone this? It's not a good time for me." 

Dr. Harding cocked an eyebrow at her. "Before I answer your question, allow me to pose one of my own. If I were your supervisor and this was a case, would you still ask to postpone?"   
  



	8. Hummingbird Souffle

The Apple and the Tree

Rated PG

Disclaimer:  This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al.  I don't make any profit or make any money from this.  No infringement is intended.  This is just for fun.

Synopsis:  An alternative view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships.  It's getting stranger by the minute.....

Notes:  Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches.

MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** Those that don't :( ... 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

8- Hummingbird Soufflé

                Gillian perched on a stool, swinging her feet, rolling it back and forth on its casters.

                "Tell me, pop, how do you rate a private room?"

                "They needed the bed in ICU and this was the only room available."  Grissom frowned at her.  "Is it really necessary to fidget like that?  Did you eat hummingbird for lunch?"

                "No."  Gillian rose and walked to the side of the bed.  "Are you sure you're okay?"

                "Yes.  I'll be better when I'm out of here and things are back to normal."

                "Pop, Dr. Casey said no work for a week; you need to take it easy."  Gillian eased herself onto the side of the bed.  "It's bad enough that I feel like I've eaten a rain forest full of butterflies, I really don't want to be worrying about you on top of all of this."

                "It won't be that bad."  Grissom told her.  "Besides, you went to the US Open and performed in front of 3500 people, how can this make you nervous."

                "Only 10 of those 3500 knew me and there aren't many schools that practice our style so I figured who's going to know the difference."  Gillian let out a long sigh.  "These people will know if I make a mistake and worse..."

                "Grissom?"  Catherine stood in the door.

                Gillian glanced up.  "Oops."

                Grissom shook his head.  "It's inevitable, sweetheart."

                Catherine glanced dubiously between Gillian and Grissom.  "This ought to be an interesting story."  she said settling into a chair.

                "Catherine, this is Gillian.  Gillian, this is Catherine Willows, she works with me."

                Gillian nodded.  "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Willows.  I hate to be rude, but I really need some sleep and I have to study for an exam tomorrow."

                Gillian winked at her father.  "'Night, dad.  Behave yourself, no pinching the nurses."

                "Since when do you have a daughter?"  Catherine asked as Gillian shut the door behind her.

                "She's almost seventeen, you do the math."  Grissom was short as always.

                "How come you never said anything about her?"

                "It never came up."

                Catherine scowled at him.  "I've worked with you all these years and all you can say is it never came up?"

                Grissom shrugged.  "Gillian's mother and I didn't part on amicable terms.  It's just something I don't discuss.  Gillian is still young she doesn't need to be put in the middle."

                Catherine nodded.

                "So how is the case?  Did you get the evidence collected?  Sorry to have dropped all this in your lap, I should be back in a week or so."

                Catherine just stared at Grissom.  He was stubborn and determined; and until today, she had always thought the lab was his life.  Curiosity was killing her, but she had to respect his privacy.  "Don't worry, Gil.  I can handle it."

                Grissom nodded.  "There's an envelope on my desk for Warrick, make sure he receives it before Monday.  There's a supervisor's meeting on Monday afternoon; I will have to postpone all the rest...."

                Catherine interrupted him with maternal firmness.  "Gil, relax.  We'll be fine.  I can marshal the troops for a week.  I'll take care of things, just get some rest."

                Warrick opened the envelope and removed the papers inside.  The first was a note from Grissom.  Warrick read it twice, a sick, sinking feeling coming over him.


	9. First Contact

The Apple and the Tree

Rated PG

Disclaimer:  This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al.  I don't make any profit or make any money from this.  No infringement is intended.  This is just for fun.

Synopsis:  An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships.  It's getting stranger by the minute.....

Notes:  Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches.

MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** Those that don't :( ... *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

9- First Contact

      "Hey, what's wrong, man?  You look kind of sick."  Warrick scowled at Nick who laughed at his friend's discomfort.

      "What's up?  Been reassigned to day shift?"  Nick grinned.

      "Worse."  Warrick passed Nick Grissom's note as he perused the rest of the papers the envelope had held.

      Nick's face fell.  "What does it mean?"  Nick reread the note aloud.  "'There is more to being a supervisor than handing out assignments and handling bureaucracy.  You have to be able to impart to others the skills that have made you supervisor.  You aren't supervisor because you are smarter or better than the rest, but because, as supervisor, you're the one that makes them work as a team.  So let this be a test of those skills.'  That's cryptic."

      "That's Grissom." sighed Warrick.

      "So what's it mean?"

      Warrick gave Nick a humorless smile.  "I get to baby-sit an intern."  Warrick shook his head.  "Why me?"

      Nick grinned again.  "You're just lucky, my man."

      "Yeah, and it's all bad."  Warrick scowled at Nick.  "It should be you.  What did I do to deserve this?  I don't need some punk kid looking over my shoulder, asking stupid questions and getting in my way."

      Warrick looked at the official papers still in his hand.  "'Gillian Genoix.' Probably some cute little co-ed who chose forensics to be with her boyfriend and knows nothing at all."

      "Or maybe she's a tough chick who wants to prove women are as strong as men."  Nick laughed at the idea, and then sobered.  "Or another Sara."

      "Just what we need," laughed Warrick weakly.  "Another Grissom clone."

      "Excuse me."

      Startled, Nick and Warrick looked up at the door.  A petite, young blonde studied them with detached regard.  She wore a dark tailored suit, little make-up and her hair and shoes were pragmatic and neat.

      "I'm looking for Warrick Brown."  she said brusquely.

      "I'm Warrick Brown."

      She afforded him a quick business like nod.  "I'm Gillian Genoix, your intern."

      "Oh."  Warrick looked at Nick, chagrined.  There was a long awkward silence.  Finally, Nick broke the silence by introducing himself.  He held out his hand.  "Nick Stokes."

      She shook his hand and nodded.

      "Why don't I show you around?"  offered Warrick, uncomfortably aware that she had probably heard their disparaging conversation and trying to make up for his foolish comments.

      Gillian nodded.

      They were in the DNA lab when Catherine paged.  Apparently, Greg knew Warrick's new intern; they had met in a club downtown.  Gillian stayed to talk to Greg as Warrick headed to find Catherine and received the night's assignments.

      "... She was sitting in the room with him, but he really wouldn't say anything about her." 

      Sara and Catherine looked up at Warrick as he entered the break room.

      "Warrick, did you know Grissom has a daughter?"  asked Sara.

      "No, but I wouldn't be surprised."

      "She was at the hospital, when I went to visit him today.  She's seventeen and looks just like him."  Catherine shook her head.  "How could he keep something like this a secret?"

      "You know Grissom."  replied Warrick with a dismissive wave of his hand.

      "Hey, Warrick, where's your shadow?"  Nick entered the room snickering.

      Warrick glowered at Nick.  "I left her talking to Greg.  She doesn't start until Monday; she just wanted to introduce herself."

      Monday evening Catherine entered the break room to find Grissom's daughter doing the crossword.  Catherine smiled, shaking her head thinking how much like Grissom, Gillian must be.

      "Your father isn't here."   Catherine said, taking a seat beside the preoccupied teen.

      "I know."  Gillian replied, not looking up.  "He's at home.  Hopefully, he's sleeping.  I'm waiting for Mr. Brown."

      "Warrick?"

      Catherine's question was stopped short by the sound of another person.

      "You're here early."  Warrick poured himself some coffee and looked at Catherine.  "I see you've met my intern."

      Catherine's eyebrows shot up.  "How come you didn't tell me your intern was Grissom's kid?"

      "What!?"  Warrick shot Gillian a betrayed, accusing look.  "I didn't know she was Grissom's kid."

      Gillian gave them both an unreadable look.  "It wasn't important and no one asked."

      "Your dad is my boss and that's not important?"

      Gillian waved away Warrick's anxiety as she finished the puzzle.  "If he didn't trust you, I wouldn't be here.  Don't sweat it."


	10. Praxis

The Apple and the Tree

Rated PG

Disclaimer:  This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al.  I don't make any profit or make any money from this.  No infringement is intended.  This is just for fun.

Synopsis:  An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships.  It's getting stranger by the minute.....

Notes:  Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches.

MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** Those that don't :( ... *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

10- Praxis

      Gillian stood back watching Catherine and Warrick process the scene.  The paramedics were still working on the kid, the distraught father watching anxiously.  Gillian watched them for a moment.  Something just didn't seem right.  The facts didn't add up.  The paramedics had arrived on scene first and removed the boy from the rear passenger seat behind the driver.  The father had been disoriented and groggy.  The child had gone into respiratory arrest, and then his heart had stopped.  The paramedics worked calmly, but without wasted motion.  Gillian studied them with clinical interest.  She thought about the injuries the man and his son had sustained and tried to picture what had happened.  The man had a large knot on his forehead and his face was slightly burnt.  He had hit his head on something, probably the window, and burns were common with air bags.  If the air bag had inflated, the car had been going at least 30 mph.  Gillian looked at the boy.  There was a bruise that looked like a strap of some kind on his right shoulder and she had heard the paramedics tell the father the boy had some internal bleeding.  The child's face had some odd scratches, probably unrelated to the crash, and a huge knot in the middle of the forehead.  He'd have some serious raccoon eyes in a day or two.

      "You okay?"

      Warrick's voice broke her train of thought.

      "Yes, but the evidence doesn't support the father's account of what happened."  Gillian frowned at the scene and screwed her face up in serious thought.

      Warrick shook his head.  That was definitely 'the look'.  The Grissom look.  The thousand yard stare; the intent expression, but where Grissom had glasses to play with Gillian had none.  Her tongue stuck out just a bit and she bit the tip in a manner Warrick would have thought painful.  Sara often had a similar expression, but it never came quite this close to resembling the boss.  He walked away to collect evidence leaving his intern lost in thought and, hopefully, learning something.

      "So have you figured it out?"  Gillian set the heavy case down on the floor of the Tahoe.  She shook her head at Warrick.

      "Look at the evidence."  said Catherine.  "We have a car with a drunk driver, sustaining heavy front impact damage, and a second car with a deflated air bag and serious damage.  The paint transfers match.  What evidence doesn't support the father's story?"

      "I have skid marks and broken headlights at the impact site."  added Warrick.  "What have we missed?"

      "What do the injuries to the bodies tell us?"

      Warrick laughed and Gillian gave him a dark scowl.

      "What?"  

      "You sound like your father."

      "At least one of us does."

      "So you think the bodies will tell a different story?"

      "I don't know, but something about the kid's injuries doesn't line up and I can't figure out why."

      The steady whirring and soft grunts had been getting faster over the last hour.  Grissom looked at the clock by the bed.  It was 3 am, he couldn't sleep and apparently, neither could Gillian.  Gillian had come home around midnight thoroughly frustrated by her first night at the lab.  Although she had only been on one case, since she was only there for half a shift, something about it bothered her.  She refused to tell her father, insisting that he wasn't working and he needed his rest.  Grissom sighed.  His body was so used to being up at this hour it was difficult to sleep.  Having Gillian in the house only complicated matters.  Grissom hadn't ever been much of a father to her, seeing her only occasionally and not more that a consecutive week, so their relationship was different than most.  He stressed to his associates the importance of having a diversion and not getting to emotionally involved in a case, but how often had he done just that.  Some example.  Maybe her mother was right and this really wasn't the place for Gillian.

      "Ow!"

      Gillian's cry startled Grissom.  He found her in the kitchen, an ice pack slung over her right shoulder.  She frowned at him.

      "You should be in bed.  You need your rest."

      Grissom sat down in a chair and stared at her for a moment.

      "So should you."  His voice was quiet and sounded tired to his own ears.  The doubts and fears that had plagued his life as an ersatz father chased their collective tails around in his head.  Suddenly the daunting task that had been given to him was crystal clear and he wasn't entirely sure he was suited for it, let alone equipped to accomplish the impossible.

      "I know, I just can't get this case out of my head.  How do you do it?"  Gillian lifted the ice from her shoulder wincing at the red mark clearly visible.  "I guess that's what I get for practicing with out complete focus.  Mom would probably accuse you of child abuse if she saw it."

      "That's not funny, Gillian."

      "I know, but it's...  that's it!"  Gillian stood up in sudden rapt attention.  "That's what's wrong with the injuries.  I've got to talk to the paramedics, maybe the doctors."

      She turned to leave the kitchen.  Grissom caught her wrist.  "It can wait.  You need some sleep.  It will wait until daylight."


	11. The Truth

Rated PG

Disclaimer:  This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al.  I don't make any profit or make any money from this.  No infringement is intended.  This is just for fun.

Synopsis:  An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships.  It's getting stranger by the minute.....

Notes:  Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches.

MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** Those that don't :( ... *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

11- The Truth

      Wednesday morning Grissom woke the smell of breakfast cooking.  Gillian always cooked when she was upset.  Her second night must not have gone well.  Tuesday she had gone, with Warrick, to talk to the paramedics and find out what the doctor had discovered.  The little boy had gone into cardiac arrest in the middle of the night and died; Gillian had told Grissom that much when she had returned home.  Now the case had evolved into one of vehicular manslaughter.  Warrick had intended to show Gillian how to print and Luminol the car that evening.  From the sounds emanating from the kitchen, Tuesday night had not gone as planned.

      "Morning, sweetheart."

      "Hey."  Gillian set a cup of coffee on the table for him.

      "How was work?"

      She set plates of food in front of him, saying nothing.

      "Did you learn anything?"

      "How to print every conceivable surface in a 1999 Black Land Rover."  Gillian sat down in the chair opposite Grissom, frowning.  "There wasn't a single drop of blood in the entire vehicle.  It's not fair."

      "It never is, but if you get mad, they win."

      "I'm going to stop it from happening."

      "Going to become a lawyer?"

      Gillian gave him a withering look.  "No.  I'm going to develop a way to nail creeps like that."

      "A lawyer with a working knowledge of forensics would be easier."

      Gillian slammed her fork down on the table.  "You, too?  Or are you just tired of having me here?  If you didn't think I was capable than why bother to encourage me?"

      Gillian stormed out of the kitchen.  Grissom could hear slamming doors throughout the house.  His neighbors would not be pleased.  Gillian brushed past the kitchen.

      "I'm going to the library, and then I'm meeting Greg at the lab so he can show me how to work the some of the equipment.  If anyone cares."  Her voice was acerbic.  Grissom had never intended to imply he doubted her abilities; nor that she was anything like Miranda.  He had failed again.

      Gillian was steamed.  Greg could see that as soon as she entered the lab.  She walked straight to his CD player and exchanged Kittie for something classical.

      "Hey!" Greg objected.

      "It will make you work more efficiently."  She shot him a cold glare.  "Or haven't you people heard of Kaizen in the middle of this god-forsaken desert."

      "Yeah. Okay."  Greg sat down at a microscope.  "Let's get started then."

      Ecklie walked into the DNA lab to a pleasant surprise.  Although it was Sanders on shift, instead of the horrible racket that usually destroyed the technician's hearing, there was some more classical sounding music at a tolerable volume.  Ecklie was about to compliment the young man on his change of music when he spied the reason.  A young lady sat at one of the stereo microscopes, studying a slide.  Ecklie frowned.

      "They look close, but they don't..."  She looked up to ask Sanders a question and stopped.  She scowled at Ecklie as if he had interrupted something important.

      He returned her look of unmitigated disdain and motioned Sanders outside the lab.

      "A new technician?"  Ecklie asked.

      "Not exactly."

      "This lab is not here for you to impress some sweet young thing you met on the Strip."

      Greg held up his hands in surrender.  "That's Warrick's intern." 

      "Well, no fraternizing; this department cannot afford for you to be distracted."

      Greg shook his head.  "Even if I were to be that unprofessional, I wouldn't dream of trying anything with Gillian.  I like my job; I don't need Grissom breathing down my neck for putting the moves on his daughter.  I've got work to do."

      Greg returned to the lab.

      "Prick." mumbled Gillian through clenched teeth.

      "To put it nicely." agreed Greg.

      "I'd like to kick him in the teeth."

      "I'd pay to see it."

      Gillian smiled and shook her head.

      "You know, you look like...."

      "My dad?"

      "No, well... maybe... if he were blonde and gorgeous... and a girl."

      Gillian giggled.  "Good, I get tired of people comparing me to him."

      "Nah, you're a lot prettier than he is."  Gillian rolled her eyes at him, as Greg continued.  "Even though your dad isn't that bad, I was actually going to say you remind me of Sara.  Well, if she were blonde and still a teenager."

      Gillian laughed.  "You'd better stop while you're ahead."

      "Hey, Grego, my results in yet?"  Nick Stokes sauntered into the lab, cocky as a prize fighter.

      "In about thirty seconds."  replied Greg.

      Gillian stood up and mumbled something about needing a soda.

      "You're either really brave or really stupid, Grego."

      Greg looked up from his microscope, frowning at Nick.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

      "Flirting with the boss' daughter, man."  Nick shook his head.  "Sounds dangerous to me."

      The computer beeped and Greg took the paper out of the printer tray.  "There are your results."  Greg's brow furrowed.  "And I'm not flirting with Grissom's daughter.  If you've never noticed, I'm usually at the receiving end of Grissom's lectures.  I certainly don't need to give him a reason to jump all over my case.

      "Also, maybe you've forgotten that she is only 16 and that's way too young for me.  It'd be like dating my sister."

      "So what's with telling her she reminds you of Sara?"

      Greg shrugged.  "If they're both going to work here I might as well try to be on the good side of one Grissom."

      "I'm not sure she's the one I'd be worried about." chuckled Nick.

      "You'd be surprised.  Did you know she's testing for her black belt in a year?"  Greg shook his head before returning to his microscope.  "I already irritate Grissom enough.  I'd much rather be lectured than piss off Gillian and take my chances."

      "Grego, you need to get out of the lab more." laughed Nick as he left.

      Gillian reentered the lab and glanced around.

      "Is he gone?"

      "Nick?"  asked Greg, not looking up.  "Yes, why?"

      Gillian let out an adolescent sigh of frustration.  "I'm not in the mood to deal with him tonight."

      "Nick?"  Greg looked up at her perplexed.  "Why?  He's a nice guy."

      "Yeah, and one in a long list of people who see me as nothing more than....  how did he put it... a 'Grissom clone.'  I am not simply a smaller copy of my father and I wish people would stop saying that."

      Greg chuckled.

      "What?!" snapped Gillian.

      "Do you know how many people here would love to be labeled a 'Grissom clone'?"

      "No," asserted Gillian holding up a finger in objection.  "They would love to be as knowledgeable and talented as my father, but they don't want to be Gil Grissom.

      "In my experience people have one of two opinions of him.  Either he's an amazingly exceptional investigator or a conceited know-it-all who refuses to play 'the game'.

      "They're right though.  He knows a great deal.  Of course he does, he's brilliant.  And why should he play 'the game'?  After all, this job isn't about politics and making people happy.  It's about solving the mystery; the solution to the puzzle.  That's where he gets himself into trouble, every time; he lives the adage about the truth setting you free.  He just doesn't realize that not everyone wants to be free."

      Gillian entered the house as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake her father.  She had let her emotions get the best of her and after cooling off, had realized she had over-reacted.  She sighed, wondering how she could apologize for making the same assumptions her mother had always made.  He was right, she was turning into her mother, it was time she faced the truth and change her destiny.  Her stomach growled and she headed towards the kitchen.  At once, her nose made her aware of the savory scent of soy sauce and fish.  

      Gillian stood in the doorway her arms crossed in annoyance.  She scowled at her father.  Grissom looked at her unperturbed.

      "Hungry?"  he asked.

      "Pop, you are supposed to be in bed."

      "I was hungry." Grissom shrugged.

      Gillian surveyed the food with great doubt.  "So you were hungry and decided to make a little snack of sushi and fugu?  Somehow I doubt that."

      "Actually, I made the sushi and ordered out for the blowfish."  Grissom replied.  "There's a great 24 hour Japanese place not far from here."

      Gillian put her arms around her father.  "I'm sorry, pop.  I over reacted.  I guess I'm not as well-adjusted and together as I thought.  You just pointed out the most efficient means to the end.  It was just something I didn't want to hear."

      "Me, too."


	12. Epiloge

The Apple and the Tree

Rated PG

Disclaimer:  This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al.  I don't make any profit or make any money from this.  No infringement is intended.  This is just for fun.

Synopsis:  An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships.  It's getting stranger by the minute.....

Notes:  Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches.

MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** those that don't :( ... 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

12- Epilogue

      "I have a pizza for..."  The delivery girl read from the box.  "... Gil Grissom."

      The receptionist acknowledged her with a smile and a nod as she paged the shift supervisor.  By the time the receptionist reached him, the young lady had made herself comfortable in a chair and was reading a scientific magazine, the pizza sitting nearby.

      Grissom walked up the long hallway, heaving a long suffering sigh.  What was up now?  A blonde pony tail swayed rhythmically out of the back of an old purple and green ball cap.  The faded sweatshirt had lost most of its color and looked dingy and dirty.  At least it covered her belly button, not hidden by the waistband of her hip hugger bell bottoms.  She met him at the end of the hall and taking his arm, guided him towards his office.

      "What are you doing here?  Grissom asked sitting down at his desk.

      She put the pizza on his desk before he could put down his paperwork.  "Visiting you."

      "Try again."  His voice was tense and impatient.  He was annoyed at this interruption.

      Gillian sighed and shook her head.  "Ok, I'm checking up on you."

      "It's been three weeks."  Grissom's forehead wrinkled in consternation.  "I'm fine.  But that's not why you came all the way down here."

      "Disempi called."

      Grissom nodded and waited for her to continue.  Friends from Gillian's martial arts school called frequently; this was hardly unusual enough to warrant a visit.

      "Katelyn fell off the boardwalk at Venice Beach and broke her leg in two places."  Gillian began.  "So they're a person short for the tournament team."

      "Team?"  Grissom could see where this was headed.

      "For the Open in Orlando."

      Grissom nodded.  "So you want me to call your mother?"

      "No."  Gillian shook her head, frowning.  "I already called her.  She said you're my father and it was high time you behaved like it."

      Grissom was aware she was watching his reaction.  This was just like Miranda.  Only this time, Miranda hadn't called him to outline why she didn't want Gillian to go.  This would be interesting; explosive, but interesting.

      "In short," continued Gillian.  "She doesn't want me to go, but she wants you to be the one to tell me no."

      "Why would I say no?" asked Grissom.

      Her body language changed.  She was presenting rational arguments here.  This ability to keep calm and present logical reasons for both sides was what had prompted Grissom to recommend Gillian pursue law as a career.

      "I would be traveling across the country to Florida.  Staying in a large resort full of unknowns.  Competing against thousands of people from around the world, exposing myself to who knows what kind of weird, dangerous creeps.  And I would be without any sort of familial supervision."

      Grissom nodded.  All valid arguments.  Some of them had been Miranda's arguments about why Gillian shouldn't attend UNLV.  The potential for terrorism had also crossed Grissom's mind; considering the location and the amount of tourists in attendance, it would be a perfect target.  "So why should I say yes?"

      "Because I won't be alone.  The rest of the team will be there.  Disempi and Sensei, of course.  Eric is going.  Dawn and her husband, Sean, are going.  We'll be meeting her brothers, Thomas and TJ in Orlando, they're cops.  I've done this before, and the last time only Ian was with me.  Besides, it's a martial arts tournament, who would try anything?"

      Gillian gave him an impertinent grin.  Grissom studied her seriously.  "You'd be surprised."

      "No, pop, I wouldn't.  I'm studying Forensics, remember."  Gillian was impassive again.  "Dawn swears she'll watch me like a hawk and I'll share a room with 'Badger' and Katelyn, she's going along to videotape the competition.  We'll have an adjoining room with Disempi and her father."

      "And this couldn't wait until morning?"

      Gillian took a deep breath.  This was where she told him something she was afraid would change his mind.  "The coordinator says the alternate paperwork needs to be in by the day after tomorrow.  And I would need to return to LA to practice with the team."

      "When?"

      "This weekend, if possible."  Grissom nodded at the manipulative, little girl smile, as she continued.  "I know I should stay and study over the summer, but I really want to do this... and I need to try to resolve some issues with mom."

      Grissom said nothing.

      "I'll be back before classes start again and maybe we can arrange housing better this year if mom doesn't think I picked my major and school to vex her."

      Gillian bit her lip awaiting his answer.  Grissom knew saying yes would cause much friction with Miranda, but he couldn't say no, despite the parental fear of danger and his own paranoia, she was right.  She needed to go, if for no other reason, then to prove that she was growing up.  He nodded.  "Much as your mother will protest, I can't see any reasonable excuse for you not to go.  Good Luck."

      "You're awesome."  Gillian jumped to her feet and ran over to kiss him on the forehead.

      "Would you still think that if I had said no?"

      "Yes, I just wouldn't have told you that."  Gillian grinned at him triumphantly.  "Got to go, things to do and people to call."

      Grissom stared at the pizza on his desk.  He sighed and took a piece.  Catherine walked in with a stack of papers.  She raised a questioning eyebrow at the greasy box.

      Grissom simply shrugged.  "Want a piece?"

AN:

Sorry to be deceptive folks, but IV was right.  I hated writing this story.  I don't see Grissom being a father prior to becoming a CSI.  If you enjoyed this little fantasy, thanks.  I didn't; I wrote it on a dare.  It was hard and not my best by far.  For those that wonder, no, Gillian isn't me; if you want to see someone like me read 'Evidence of a Ghost.' Thanks for your input, but I'm glad this is over… that's one of the reasons it took so long to get it all posted… I just wasn't happy with the story.  I've intentionally left unanswered questions.  If you must absolutely know the answers, email me.  It's just back story.


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